Ophidian
by PitaEnigma
Summary: Letho wants to build his school. Taylor wants to save her world. Semi sequel to Nimrod
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a semi sequel to Nimrod. While Nimrod is unnecessary to read to understand what happens in this fic, there are AU elements as a result of Nimrod. Apologies for the confusion.

* * *

"I need to pee," Annette told Danny. "Can you hold my bag?"

"Sure," he said absentmindedly. He slung her handbag over his shoulder and gave her a kiss. She walked into a small restaurant, close to him. He looked at her through the window, watching her walk by the tables, momentarily obscured by the words HOBBS'S BREWERY AND GRILL before she walked up the stairs and out of sight.

He turned to the parade. Pick-up trucks dragged large floats behind them, each bearing a scene recreating a different event in Brockton Bay's history. The peace treaty with the natives floated by him, second graders dancing to faux Native American music on top of it. The one after that had fourth graders in blankets taking an incredibly convincing nap. He didn't quite remember what historical event that was commemorating.

He heard a scream. He looked in its direction, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. More voices joined in, starting to scream, and a wave of people in the crowd started to push and shove away from something. A booming voice shouted something. Then he saw it.

The source of the mayhem was a man clad in full plate armor, a full white beard coming out of the bottom of his helmet. He held a staff made of steel, and lifted it up high. Blades sprouted from it and flew into the crowd after detaching.

Allfather.

People pushed past each other in a blind panic. Danny froze. Annette was still in the bathroom of Hobbs's. He ran towards the entrance, and a six foot long metal pole lodged itself into a food stand, blocking his way. Another one followed.

"Come out, Marquis!" Allfather roared. "Face me like a _man_."

"Shit. Fuck. Crap. Shit," Danny muttered, almost a litany. He ducked under the pole, and ran into another pole. It had not been there when he looked before. If he had been a little bit faster, it would have impaled him. He looked towards Allfather, and saw another blade headed his way. Time slowed down as a man jumped in front of it. It hit him and burst in a flash of lightning.

When the spots in Danny's vision cleared, the man was unharmed. The man was large, and the scars on his bald head and thick arms were visible at even a cursory glance. He wore actual leather armor, and had a sword strapped to his back. He looked like one of the heroes from the books Danny used to read as a kid – He'd fit in well with Conan or Kull.

"Get behind the car," he said, pointing to a truck attached to a float. The driver had run off. "It's not gonna get you there."

"My wife," Danny said. "She's in there."

The windows of Hobb's were broken. A woman was affixed to the wall with a spear. _Not Annette,_ Danny thought, mixed shame and relief at the thought flowing through him.

"What's she look like?" the man asked. Danny pulled out his wallet and showed the man the picture of them at Notre Dame. Another pole flew by them, missing the man by a hair. He didn't flinch, or even look towards the sound of screaming that followed it.

"Her name is Annette. I'm Danny," he said. The man's eyes were yellow and slitted, and staring holes into Danny's.

"Letho," the man responded. He made a gesture with his hand. Sparks burst out of it, covering him. He leaped through the poles embedded in the food cart, pirouetting through the air. "Run for cover, you idiot," he hissed at Danny, before running into the restaurant.

Danny ran, putting the truck between him and the advancing Allfather.

The next minute felt like an hour. He couldn't help but keep peeking through the smashed windows, looking through to see what was happening. Police were setting up barricades at a distance, and Allfather had stopped walking to throw blades in random directions. Danny ducked as a blade flew towards the window. It passed where his head had been.

With no mission in sight, no need to run anywhere, with only a need to stay where he was and death everywhere else, Danny collapsed onto the sidewalk. Sobs wracked his body, leaving him shuddering and shivering. His mind went blank, not even showing him images of what could have happened. Just a blank all-consuming, mind-numbing fear.

It felt like an eternity until Letho returned. The giant squatted over Danny's curled form. "She's safe, barricaded in the bathroom. You're not safe here. I'll bring you there."

Danny allowed himself to be lifted, cradled like a child. The indignity should anger him, he knew. All that came out was a mumbled tearful, "Thank you."

"No problem," came Letho's voice.

"How do I repay you?" Danny found himself saying. "Why are you helping _me_?"

When no answer came, he looked at Letho's face. The man was, for the first time, smiling.

* * *

 _Sixteen years later_

It was a bit of a tumble into the stream. The knives clacked against my chest before I landed flat on my back, my scabbard wedged into my spine. I shrugged, testing the pain. Nothing was broken. Some slight bruising, I thought. Nausea, but barely any of it.

Still, I felt like I needed to speak with Fringilla about this. Berate her. Admonish her. If I was feeling particularly brave, maybe even upbraid her.

I pushed myself to my feet, and dusted myself off. Soaked as I was, it was a meaningless gesture. I evaluated what I had. The leather vest and chain armor were fine, but wet. As was the undershirt and pants. The bombs on their bandolier were all perfectly in place and intact, as were the two knives. The scabbard was caked with mud, but fine. My hood was askew, the cloth mask covering the bottom half of my face pulled away.

I allowed myself to take in my surroundings.

I had been dropped into small stream flowing down a hill, on a relatively straight incline towards the city, which wasn't too far away, a shining beacon in the night. The woods were almost entirely pine trees, the ground covered in cones and needles. There were a few small shrubs, but most had been choked out by the pines. I heard more than I saw the wildlife scurrying – snakes, lizards, and farther away I could hear what sounded like a boar and her piglets, snuffling through the soil. A murder of crows flew up ahead, disturbed by a loud noise. I had to rack my mind slightly to remember that it was the sound of an engine. I could faintly make out the music the driver – and I didn't need to see him to know it was a he – was listening to, but I couldn't recognize it. It had been a while.

The smell of the pines and the soil wasn't enough to choke out the smells coming in from the distance. Oil, smog, rot, and a slight whiff of the sea.

Brockton Bay. Earth Bet. Home.

"Home," I said to the air. The word tasted funny. Home was in Skellige. Tor Gvalch'ca. Brockton Bay was a series of memories I barely clung onto. My mother singing. My father running his hand through his hair. Cookies baking.

Letho had taken that from me, and even now, so close to everything I'd lost, I still couldn't hate him for it. His goals, the mission... it was too important.

With that in mind, I headed towards the city.

* * *

I sat on a roof for a full twenty minutes before feeling comfortable enough to try isolating sounds. I'd let the sounds and feelings of the city at night wash over me. The sirens, the cars, the people, moving, talking, screaming, fighting, doing so much more... all of this above sounds others wouldn't hear. The hum of a generator, scribbling of rats, air conditioning units working, water dripping, so much noise it overwhelmed me.

But I managed to get it down. I sat, and listened to the city. I alternated my focus, listening in to words from different apartments in the area.

"I can't keep doing this, Scott." A woman, her voice half a sob.

"Are you sure you're tired?" A teenaged boy, his cracked voice carrying a note of arousal.

"We're out of milk." A different woman, curt.

"Are you okay?" A man, worry coloring his attempt at a soothing voice.

A whimper of fear, followed by, "Just give me your wallet."

An alley, near me. A man pushing a woman up against a wall. Her hand scrabbled inside her purse, rattling things, but she pulled nothing out.

I hesitated for only a brief second before jumping down to the building's fire escape, and from there two stories to the street.

Even after preparing myself for the landing, my knees buckled and I collapsed to the ground, my nose alarmingly close to the crud and detritus covering the sidewalk. The smell of half-burned cigarette butts was overpowering. I coughed as I stood up.

The man's attention had turned to me.

"What the fuck," he said. "You pulling something?"

"Leave her alone," I squeaked, out of breath. He turned his knife towards me. I thought about going for the knives in my vest, but instead held my hand out in the sign of Aard. A pulse of force blew out, knocking him against the wall. He slid, gasping for air.

I turned my attention to the woman. The blast had hit her with a glancing blow, and knocked her flat on her ass. I extended a hand out to her. "Sorry, misjudged the blast."

"Thank you," she said. "I... Thank you."

"You're welcome," I said. I wondered if there was a manual for interactions after saving someone from a robbery. The would-be robber was struggling to get up. I used the sign of Somne, and he stopped. "Maybe call the cops?"

"Sure," she said. "Right."

"No need," a voice said. _I didn't hear him approach,_ I thought as I turned towards him. He was floating.

He wore a golden breastplate with a matching helmet with a red plume. His boots, shield, and spear looked like they were made of light. He slowly touched down on the ground, his landing almost soundless. Blue eyes and a light smile showed through the slit in his helmet.

"Hi, I'm Dauntless," he said, extending his hand for a shake. I shook it.

"I'm Gorgon," I said, almost saying _Viper_ instead. His head tilted quizzically for a half second, before he shook it and continued.

"Is he in any danger?" he asked, gesturing towards the snoring form of the mugger.

"No. He's taking a nap. Do you have handcuffs or something?"

"No, but cops are on their way, and between the two of us he isn't getting away," he said. "I've got to ask you a few procedural things. I need to make clear that saying 'no' to any of them will not be held against you, but we prefer if you help."

"Sure," I said. "What is it?"

"Would you be willing to give a statement? Also, are you an active cape here?"

"Yes, and yes, but I started my official career tonight. Up until now I've only trained," I said.

"Oh? Where are you from originally?"

"Bay native, but I've been travelling all over."

"Mind sharing where?"

"Umm... can I have a picture with you two?" The woman said.

"Right!" The smile on Dauntless's face was slightly sheepish now. "Sorry, I just got into the questioning. Shouldn't have done that yet. Right. Is that okay with you, uh..."

"Gorgon."

"I would have remembered that in a second," he mock-complained.

"Sure thing," I said. I smiled under my mask.

She stood between us and held her phone out to take a picture. Dauntless held his arm a half an inch over her shoulder, while I stood with my fingers in a 'V', palm facing the camera. She took four pictures. I remembered just in time to slit my pupils, and allow the world to grow darker. People would focus on their strangeness, hopefully.

"Thank you," she told us, then, "Thank you," again, to me. "I've got to run home."

"Would you be willing to come in tomorrow and testify?" Dauntless asked her.

"Okay," she said. She looked through her purse, and pulled out a piece of paper. She wrote down Amanda and a number, then _(Call me)_. She handed it to Dauntless, who folded it up and put it in his bracer. She jogged away.

Something in Dauntless hardened as she left. He paused for a few seconds, staring after her as she walked away, and turned the corner. He took a deep breath before turning to me. "Do you have any intention of joining the Protectorate?"

"No," I said. "I'm striking out on my own, for now."

"I need to warn you as to how things are, then."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I'm going to assume you know absolutely nothing. A week ago, a vigilante cape attacked the leader of Empire Eighty Eight while he was at work, in his civilian identity, as CEO of a company."

"Max Anders," I said. "I know. I did my research."

"Let me pretend you don't, so nothing gets missed. This is important. Hundreds of people died as collateral damage. As a result, there are two major outcries. The first is that the CEO of a large pharmaceuticals company was secretly a Nazi gang leader, and the second that a single vigilante caused so many deaths and the PRT was unable to prevent them."

"I have library access," I said. "The internet is everywhere."

"Can I finish this? The second is why I'm warning you right now. Legally, you have the right to make a citizen's arrest, to protect others, and to help out."

"And..."

"Practically, there's always been some leeway for independent heroes. Not enough of us, too many of them, you know? But right now... you set a toe over the line of legality, and we come down. Hard. We can't afford not to," he said.

"That's very open of you," I remarked.

"Honesty is important," he said. "Openness. I'm not going to deceive you, in the hopes that you're not going to try to deceive me."

"Okay," I said. "What do you want to know?"

"Where have you been operating?" He asked.

"I won't lie on this," I said, "But I can't tell the truth either. Sorry. I can assure you I have committed no crimes, and plan to commit none."

"Fair enough," he said. "What are your plans?"

"Establish myself as a heroic mercenary – Will do legal work for money. I'm an excellent tracker and detective, and I can handle myself in a fight."

"Okay... You do realize that's not going to be possible without a reputation? I think the only independent mercenary hero I know of is Mouse Protector. She was one of the original Wards and she _still_ does children's birthday parties to make a living. I highly recommend you join the Protectorate if your skillset is that good."

"Can't join the Protectorate," I said. "Maybe Wards, but even then I'm saying 'no.' Can't be in a system if I want to achieve my goals."

" _Wards_?" he asked. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen," I said.

"Shit... Aren't you supposed to be in be- at home, or something?" The stern look had faded into concern.

"Don't have one," I responded. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"Look... Come have a tour of the Wards HQ. Please. Let me introduce you to them, at least. Know what it is you're saying no to."

"No, thank you," I said. "But I'll give you this. Right now there are bounties on capturing Lung and Azrael. Considerably larger ones for Azrael. I'll bring _them_ to the Wards headquarters, or as they're better known, the PRT's headquarters. I'll do it without collateral damage, and I'll do it legally. And then we'll talk, and see what arrangements we'll come to in the future."

"It's dangerous," he said. "I can't condone it. _I_ wouldn't do it, and I'm the strongest cape in our Protectorate, barring maybe Armsmaster. Come in, please."

"No," I said. "Thank you. I'm going to go right now, if you've got the man over there in hand."

He pulled a business card out. DAUNTLESS. PROTECTORATE ENE. A number. "Take this, please. Call me if anything happens. We can't see another hero slip."

I put it in a pocket in my armor.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'll be fine."

After all, I had a plan.


	2. Chapter 2

A wasting illness. That was what killed emperor Emhyr Var Emreis. He woke up one day, hale and hearty as ever. The next day, he went to bed early, complaining of a sore head. The the day after that he stayed in bed, calling on physickers, even asking to call for a sorceress. A week after he fell ill, he died of his illness.

The peasants whispered first that it was a curse for deceiving his people with a false wife in Cirilla, then they said it was for the truth that his wife Cirilla was also his daughter. They told tales of his cruelty, of the murder of his first wife, of his treasons against those who trusted him most.

Letho of Gulet knew the truth. Of course he would. He was the one who had poisoned the emperor in the first place.

The details are unbefitting of being put to words. They involved indignity, pain, and unspeakable violence, as well as the assistance of many people whose morals should have been firmer.

The funeral procession was stately. Lead it was his widow and daughter, who stood unflinching in the stares of the nobility. They were too terrified of the man to jeer, even after his death.

The stern look on Cirilla's face cracked only once, when she saw the robed priest of the Great Sun staring at her from the audience. A slight smile tugged at her lips, stretching her scar. She turned to say something to her sorceress, and when she looked back at the man, he was gone.

* * *

Cirilla wasn't alone in her dining chamber for long before his blade was at her throat. She smiled. "Congratulations on getting your revenge, Letho of Gulet. I'm surprised you took this long. It's been two weeks since he died."

"Took you two weeks to bury him," Letho said from behind her chair. "I needed to make sure he was dead, and it wasn't a trick."

"Took us two weeks to find _you_. You hid remarkably well for a man of your size."

"Can't check every hovel."

"No, you can't. Scrying you by a hair wouldn't work either."

"Good thing I got scalped," he said. "But we aren't here to talk about my sartorial problems, are we?"

"Why _are_ you here, Letho? Come to end the royal line of the Empire of Nilfgaard?" She asked, then disappeared in a flash, reappearing behind him with a sword drawn and a grin on her face. "You can try."

She spun, swinging her sword and found it trapped in two crossed daggers. She disappeared again and reappeared to Letho's left, swinging again.

He had shed his priest's robes, clad in his normal leathers. He caught her sword's swing with one dagger and spun to bring the other to her face. She leaned back, whooping accidentally, and turned it into a full cartwheel. Letho took a step back to avoid her steel-tipped boots, and cast the sign of Aard, sending her crashing to the floor.

She watched him run towards her, and disappeared again, reappearing behind him. She kicked him, and he rolled, turning himself towards her.

"Good!" she said. "I can see what Geralt meant about your fighting!"

"I see his training in you," Letho said. "Wrong for a girl your size."

He charged towards her again, pushed her sword away with his bracer, grabbed her midsection and crashed onto the floor. She gasped for breath. He put his dagger at her throat. Her eyes closed, then she glowed, then she _exploded_ , light throwing Letho back. She jumped onto him and pushed her blade onto his chest.

"I know a lot he didn't teach me," she said. "Let's talk about the books you're after."

Letho grunted. "You knew?"

"Letho of Gulet, if you think I didn't know you were in the Pale Skies inn at Equinox square for the last two weeks, that you came in on a ship from Ofier, that all of this time you were looking for the books from the School of the Viper... you underestimated me terribly."

"What now, then?" He muttered. "Going to execute me for my crimes? Make an example of me? Finish the job your father started?"

"No, Letho. I'm going to give you everything you need."

* * *

The Imperial Personal Library was, like all of the imperial accoutrements, unnecessarily ostentatious. Shelves after shelves, stacked and stuffed and gilted. For all its size, Cirilla walked through it with full confidence, not once looking for direction. Letho recognized the books before she stopped in front of them. Letho didn't stop until he was mere inches from the shelves. Recipes, guides to far off lands, in depth guides to herbs, books of myths... he couldn't stop himself from running his finger down the spine of Aen Elle: The Eternal War, feeling the notch where he'd dropped it as a child.

"This is the entire collection," she said. "My father intended to use them as a bargaining chip with other rulers, but never found the occasion. You could use the knowledge more than we can."

"What's the price of this?" Letho asked. "A ruler gives nothing away for free."

"You helped save me from the Wild Hunt. You protected me at Kaer Morhen. You think I would forget that?" She asked.

"I think you're a liar," he said. "What do you gain from this, Empress? What trap are you leading me into?"

"Fine," she said. "I expect you to use the books. I expect you to start your own school, to replace the ones lost, and start a new order of witchers. I expect you to find that Witchers no longer necessary, that the monsters have crawled too deep into their holes, and are only looking for a secluded place to die. And then, I expect you to come to me looking for a solution."

"Why would I come to _you_?" he sneered.

"Because I have it," she said. "Come. I will have the books placed into a wagon and given to you after our conversation. Or I can have Cynthia open a portal for you to go anywhere you need. Call it payment for prior service. Just listen, and decide."

"Fine," he said.

They started walking towards her quarters.

"I didn't save the world," she began.

* * *

One of the things I'd remembered from my childhood was how to use the internet. It was a basic, easy way to gain information. It was how I'd known about the gangs of Brockton Bay, how I knew about the annihilation of one a week prior, and the name of my first target.

Azrael.

Most of the information about her capabilities came from what authorities had released. The rest was in the video of her assault on Medhall. She flew, she controlled metal, and she was _lethal_. I'd have to catch her while there was no metal in the area. Metal which she always carried with her, in the form of armor and floating objects. Metal which I always carried with me, in the ingredients of my bombs, in my armor, and my blades.

A mercenary had the same thought before me, and failed. That was why I was dressed in sneakers, jeans, and a white t-shirt, my eyes looking almost normal. I looked like an average teenage girl, though with a sickly pallor to my skin and eyes that people would swear looked almost yellow. That is, if Brockton Bay was the sort of city where people dared to look each other in the eyes. It was why I'd followed a university student who had apologized to his date and run off to buy groceries after getting a text from his boss. It was why I had taken the stairs down in the alley behind a fish and chip store, knocking on the door to Gregor the Snail's apartment.

There was no answer, but there were two people inside, judging by the amount of heartbeats. One, a man, was talking to the other. His tone comforting. I knocked again. He went quiet, but no footsteps came. I knocked a third time.

"Gregor, I want to talk to you," I shouted at the door, feeling silly. I knocked a fourth time.

An Aard would knock the door down. If I wanted to be less psychotic about it, there was a dagger discreetly placed against the small of my back, and I could probably smash the doorknob with the hilt. I had nothing I could use as an impromptu lockpick – I could get them in the future, though. I made a mental note to get lock picks.

I tried the handle, and the door opened. Behind it was a small hallway leading into two doors. One of them opened to reveal a morbidly obese man, shells lining what little was of his transluscent skin was showing under a turtleneck and sweatpants. He stank of sweat and seafood. Gregor the Snail.

"It was open," I said. Other smells wafted out from behind him. Some kind of meat stew, and faux lavender scented cleaning liquid.

"Whoever you are looking for, you have the wrong address," he responded. "Go elsewhere."

"Do you know where the other mutant with see-through skin is, then?" I slitted my pupils for half a second. He nodded at that, slightly surprised.

"Fine," he said. "Let's talk, then. Here."

"You worked for Faultline, right?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "I assume you are the new local cape sighted last night. You were on the morning news, today."

"Yep," I said.

"Consider wearing sunglasses," he said.

"Good point," I said. "Is that why you've got the turtleneck?"

"It's winter. Are you here to ask me about fashion?"

"I've got a question, then. Azrael. What did your team find out about her?" I asked. "Faultline died in the attack on Meadowshine. An attack that Victor and Othala of Empire 88 survived. Meaning that whatever you did… you did with knowledge. Faultline succeeded in what she was hired to do. And I want to know how."

"What do you want to do with that information?" he asked.

"There's a fund contributed to by the families of Azrael's victims, for information leading to her arrest or capture. There's a higher one for bringing her in. I plan on getting it."

"You would use whatever we have against her, then? Against the cape who murdered Faultline?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then I refuse," he said. "I will not let her be used again by anyone. It was idiotic the first time. To do so again would be wrong on every level."

"Her?" I asked.

"You've done your research. Who was on the illustrious Faultline's Crew?" A smirk was on his face, making it uglier than it was before. "Think."

"Newter, you, Faultline, and Labyrinth. The last two died… Did you have a secret member?" I asked.

"No," he said. "No secret member. We made overtures to another one, but Faultline died and she got scared. Your information is incorrect, though."

"Oh?" I asked.

"If you reveal this to anyone, I will kill you."

He walked back into the room he came from, and gestured towards the girl sitting on a recliner behind him. She sat motionless, a bowl in one hand, the other toying with her mouth. She turned her face towards me.

Her lips had a gash in them, extending under bandages on the right side of her face. Her eyes were unfocused, looking in my direction, her eyebrows pursed in concentration. Her mouth was slightly open, revealing gums with most of her teeth missing.

"Meet Labyrinth," he said. "Very much alive. And _not_ your tool."

"Why are you showing me her?" I asked.

"So you know that you should stop. We deprived Azrael of the metal on her. We deprived her of the metal in the area. One tiny piece slipped our minds. Who thinks about braces?" He snorted. "That lost Faultline her life."

"Okay..." I said.

"No, not _okay_. It was one miscalculation in an otherwise perfect plan, and it led to disaster. You want to tell me that you, a single person, thinks she can defeat Brockton Bay's angel of death? Purity was one of the strongest capes in a city that includes a core Protectorate team member and a man who managed to last fifteen minutes against an Endbringer. Purity didn't even put up a fight. Who do you think you are?"

"I kill monsters," I said. "And one is terrorizing your city."

"No. One _was_ terrorizing our city. She hasn't been sighted since the incident that gave her national attention, and that's for a reason. I know who she is in her civilian life. She's done. She wanted her pound of flesh, and she got it."

"She didn't get Victor or Othala," I said. "She's going after them."

"You can ask for their help," he responded.

"You don't want to avenge Faultline? Get the person who killed her arrested?" My voice wanted to hitch on that one.

"Revenge is pointless. I'm going to move on," he said. "Faultline was never one for sentimentality."

"Can't you offer me anything?"

"I offered you all I can," he said. "I told you the truth. If you face Azrael, you will die. Go after an easier bounty. I hear there's a kill order out on Bastard Son. Maybe you can pick off a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine. There's a reward of a hundred thousand dollars for Insomniac's death. But if you face Azrael, you will die. You will make a mistake, and she will capitalize on it. I offered you this much out of… let's call it kinship. We should help each other, those of us who don't quite belong. I don't want you to kill yourself."

"What's her name? Give me that one," I said. "I can do it."

"No," he said.

"I'm sorry, then," I said. I used the sign of Axii. "What's Azrael's civilian name?"

"Charlotte Morgenstern," he said, his face slack.

"Thank you very much," I said. I walked out of the apartment, out of the alley, into the street. I didn't close the doors behind me. I wanted to slam them.

It was cold.


	3. Chapter 3

The cavern was filled with pinpricks of light, small fires each surrounded by soldiers resting after the day's march. The smoke from the fires dispersed into cracks in the cave's ceiling. A large tent stood at the entrance to the cave, shelter within its shelter, two guards standing at its entrance, the caravans parked just outside. Nilfgaardian banners were unfurled.

Letho watched the vapor rise from his mug and coalesce into the air. He tried to track where the vapor disappeared completely, watching the interplay with the wind and the misting of his own breath. He ignored Cynthia's pointed stare as the sorceress watched his every move. They sat together alone, deep in the cave.

"Not gonna kill you," he said. He'd stopped counting how many times he'd said that.

"Not going to let you," she replied, smiling. "Have you killed a sorceress, yourself?"

"Not yet," he said. "Was hired to kill one, though. It's where I'm headed next."

"Give your client the money back," Cynthia said.

"You think I'm not going to succeed?" he snorted.

"I need you alive for the Empress," she said. "Allowing you to die like a fool isn't a part of that plan."

"Too bad," he said. "I think you'd like this job."

"Who's the mark?" she asked.

"Phillippa Eilhart," he said.

"You definitely could not kill _her_. Who hired you for that one?"

"You'd ask me to betray a client?" he asked, amused.

"I can guess. The dragon's alive?"

"I'm not saying," he said.

Cynthia laughed. "Get help. If I weren't busy working for the Empire, I'd be willing to join you."

"You mean being a slave to the Empire."

"We're all slaves," she said. "Some of us are just more willing to bear the chains."

"You could leave. Be free."

"This is my choice." She refilled her mug of tea, and sipped from it. Her eyes never left his. "You should think more carefully about your own motives. Why are you so intent on building your own school?"

The words hung heavy in the air. They heard a guffaw from the fire near them. One of the soldiers was performing some sort of improvised dance. His arms were on his hips, his legs kicking arythmically, it looked like he had been possessed. One of the men at the fire threw a pebble at the dancing man's forehead. Letho watched the dance for a few more seconds before speaking. "Aren't you afraid of me?"

"You did Nilfgaard a great favor, Letho. I'm not scared, I'm thankful."

 _Do you know I killed Emhyr?_ He almost asked. He was close enough to stop her from casting a spell. His daggers were in their packs, but he could snap her neck before she reacted.

"You didn't only win us the war, you also elevated Cirilla to empress." He kept his face blank. "You thought I didn't know? The emperor dies and then I'm told to track an assassin. The assassin is in Nilfgaard, pretending to be a priest. Honestly, Letho, I'm amazed you think so little of me."

"Don't you want revenge?" he asked.

"For what? Emhyr was a fine emperor. He united most of the world. But Cirilla makes him look weak."

"Little Ciri?" Letho laughed. "I protected her myself, back when the Wild Hunt were after her. She's handy with a sword, I'll admit, but I haven't seen anything other than a little girl, forced into a station above her capabilities. You want to tell me _she's_ Emhyr var Emreis's worthy successor?"

"Wait and see," Cynthia said. "Or try to cross her. It would be a shame to lose you, but I'm sure it would be entertaining."

* * *

The court fell silent as the Empress of Nilfgaard came in, accompanied not by the usual courtiers, but by a witcher. A scarred brute of a man, he wasn't even as elegant as the witcher who had saved the duchess's sister the previous spring. Not as well dressed, as well mannered, or as well coiffed. A revolting mound of leather and muscle. The Empress herself was unsuitably dressed as well, in a white shirt and trousers. It wasn't unknown for royalty to dress improperly at times, but this was a clear breach of all norms. With unseemly haste, Duchess Anna Henrietta invited the two into her solar, accompanied by the knight Damien de la Tour.

The smile on her face dropped once the three of them were alone in her room. "What is the meaning of this?" the duchess snapped. "There are proper forms, and functions! An Empress can not drop by unannounced, dressed like a _vagrant_ , accompanied by..."

"A witcher?" Cirilla said. "That's odd, considering you and your entire city owe your lives to a witcher. You'd think that would give you respect for the profession, at the very least."

"I mean-"

"Quiet now, your empress is speaking. Letho, a question," Cirilla said. "A man sneaks into the kitchens of Beauclair, and doses the pot of soup with a vial of, say, Black Blood. Assume the people who eat the soup aren't witchers. What happens to them?"

"Well," Letho said, considering. "It'll be diluted quite a bit, but I suppose it could be a lot of things. Probably their blood congeals while inside their veins. Maybe worse? I don't know, I've never used Black Blood to poison people. It's too expensive to throw away."

"Your hypothetical assassin is funded by the Nilfgaardian empire," Ciri said.

"Then I'd guess that. Could also just turn their blood into an acid and melt them from the inside. Also depends on the amount. If I were trying to poison one person, a single dose would be enough, but I'd bring several bottles if I were trying to murder the entire royal court."

"Wonderful," Cirilla said. "I would also like to ask you another question. How many rulers have you killed?"

"Of what?"

"Kingdoms, empires, anything you imagine."

"Two."

"The truth, now."

"Three."

"Ever killed a duchess?"

"Should be even simpler."

"Now," Cirilla turned to Anna Henrietta. "Let us talk about Toussaint's status. You are a vassal duchy of the Nilfgaardian empire. You, in effect, _belong_ to us. Now, General Voorhis assures me there are considerations, things I should not do, things my father wouldn't do, but I've found limits to be… well… limiting. I'm Empress, and I don't understand why I should abide a Nilfgaardian province acting with its own rules. Next time I arrive, if I am wearing nothing but the muck of the road, you are to bow. You are to offer supplication, and an honor befitting your empress, or you are to be murdered in your sleep. I understand your sister wanted the throne. I wonder if she would be more respectful than you."

"You come into _my_ house, and threaten _me_?" The duchess was purple with rage.

"Letho, hit her," Cirilla said. "In the gut. We don't want to blemish the Duchess's face."

The duchess buckled as the blow hit her. De la Tour reached for his sword but found his scabbard empty and the sword at his throat, held by the Nilfgaardian empress.

"Bad move, knight," Cirilla said. "Stand down and kneel. Your empress commands it." De la Tour swallowed, and went to his knee. "Change your tone if you want to live through the day. If you disrespect me again, Letho and I will murder you and your guards, and my army will burn your castle to the ground. We will then burn every single vineyard, so the world knows what happens to those who disobey the Empire. I am not as patient as Emhyr was."

"What do you want?" the duchess said. Cirilla glanced at Letho, and she added "Your Imperial Highness?"

"Bring me Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg. I need to speak to both of them."

* * *

Observing Charlotte Morgenstern was an irritating affair. She had a strict schedule, but it was useless. She spent nights in her home, an apartment building in a nice neighborhood. In the morning she went to a school called Winslow, where she faded into the crowd of students. After work she'd go home, and then go to her internship in Yilankale Construction, where I would lose her.

The place was a _fortress_. I couldn't very well scale a building to see what she was doing. Trying to talk my way in was entirely unsuccessful as well. Twin metal detectors were in the immediate entrance, followed by a bag check, and then key card examination. An armed guard sat at a safe distance from the entrance at night.

It raised every single red flag I could think of. It was a construction company. They should have a few offices, maybe a floor in a tower. They shouldn't have had a full _building,_ and definitely not with that kind of security.

The third time I walked around their lobby, one of the guards took me aside. He looked askance at my jeans, sweater, medallion, and sunglasses. Then he turned his attention towards my face.

"What are you looking for, kid?"

"Ummm… my friend is doing an internship here, and I was wondering, ummm..." I looked down at my feet, shuffling them. "Where do you apply?"

"We aren't taking any more internships," he said. "What's the name of your friend?"

"Nevermind," I said. "I'll go."

"What's their name?" He grabbed my shoulder.

"You're hurting me," I said, failing to inject a note of fear into my voice. I'd forgotten how to sound afraid, I realized. _Damn it._

He let go of my shoulder and muttered, "Get out."

I stomped out of the building. I'd regroup and track my other target. For now.

* * *

I spent two weeks observing both of my targets in their day to day lives, after that. I didn't need to sleep as long as normal people did, and this worked to my fortune. Lung was lazy, and Charlotte was a teenager with a teenager's sleep schedule.

Charlotte's schedule was like clockwork. She'd leave her home, go to school, and head home. In the evening she would sometimes go to Yilankale, then leave a few hours later. I never saw her use her power, but I was willing to bet anything that she wasn't an ordinary intern. Assuming Yilankale was a legit construction company, they could use her power. But again, it seemed too secure to be anything but a front. Her spending a lot of time indoors made her hard to track, though. I could never be sure what she was doing.

Lung, on the other hand, was her utter opposite. He woke up late, went to bed at random hours, and seemed to have no logical schedule. He'd fit an hour's workout into every day, but he spent an entire day lounging about watching TV, then the next day inspecting random ABB businesses. That was how I first saw him, when he went to eat malai kofta with rice at Baghwan's Diner.

However, he was also much more easily trackable. Even when indoors, he was near windows or he left quickly. Where Charlotte – _Azrael,_ I reminded myself – would go into a building for hours where I couldn't track her, Lung was eminently trackable at all times. He even stank with his own unique smell, a combination of sweat and smoke that was very rare in a city. It was the smoke of a natural fire, woody and strong, the vaguely pleasant smell of a natural process, not the acrid or sickly sweet chemical stench of the fires I'd find in the city, the kind that burns in your nose and throat. I'd earned a break.

* * *

Another night, another hiding spot. I took in the noise, trying to separate the things that were important from what wasn't. I drowned out the cars, the ocean, the sirens, the dogs, and focused on the people. The different voices, coming from different people.

"It's been three weeks."

"I don't think that's pesto, hun."

"Not doing that one again."

"This is dynamite ham."

Finally, a "fuck you I'm not giving you my wallet." I jumped into the fire escape and down the ladders, looking towards the alley. A black man, accosted by a white guy with a shaved head and an eagle tattoo on the back of his neck, knife held in his right hand.

"Put it down," I told the would-be mugger. He turned towards me. His target grinned and picked up a brick, taking a step towards the mugger. "You too, I've got this one."

The mugger turned his knife towards me with a grin. "Little superhero has jungle fever, doesn't she?"

I pulled both of my knives out. "You really want to do this? Turn yourself in and we'll be fine."

The knife flew out of his hand and into the wall. Then mine wrenched themselves out of my hands and embedded into the wall. My sword pulled back, and I unclasped the scabbard, only to be hoisted by the chains in my armor. Rebar flew and wrapped itself around the skinhead. He rose fifteen feet into the air.

I saw the descending form. A girl my age, in stylized full plate armor. A purple cape fluttered behind her, the only splash of color she wore. Her expression was cold, staring at me and at the skinhead. It was Charlotte.

"Go home," she told the man he'd tried to mug. She turned to the skinhead. "Tell your friends that unless they want to meet me, they should find legitimate things to do with their time. Consider this a kind warning." She dropped him. He yelped, then whimpered as he landed. Without use of his arms, he barely succeeded at rolling to his feet, and then ran off.

"Now you," she said, looking at me. "Why are you after me?"


End file.
